Light and Dark

One of the many benefits of heading up a company that creates erotica is that I can turn any and every business trip into a pleasure trip with a little bit of creative license.  If I’m scouting locations to shoot new videos, I absolutely must stay in the best hotels with a spa because I might be able to use it as the site of my next couple’s retreat.  If I’m doing a model search for new models, for fresh faces, what better place to do that than some sleepy little resort town in The Seychelles with pristine beaches, seafood that will make you question what the hell you’ve been eating your entire life, and gorgeous, toned Black bodies that have never even seen the inside of a gym or a mall.  And if Snarky Puppy is playing at the Jazz Festival in Amsterdam, well, it was just a coincidence that I had a book signing scheduled there that same weekend.  Talk about lucky! 

Snarky Puppy was playing at the jazz festival and my agent was able to make arrangements for me to have a book signing there but it lasted a whole of two hours.  The additional six days and twenty-two hours that my photographer and I stayed there were purely to sample the many delights that The Netherlands’ fair city had to offer.   If Uncle Sam asks, I was there looking for venues for the European leg of my live sex show.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 

Have you ever met a brotha who is fine but doesn’t know it?  No, you probably haven’t.   They are an entity so rare they are listed on the extinction list of mammals.  Most brothas, no matter how trifuliing they are, no matter how pathetic, think they are God’s gift.  Jason, my closest friend and photographer, was one of those rare, beautiful creatures found in nature who was part geek, part intellectual, part artist and he didn’t fit in with typical brothas so he just carved out a niche where he ended up a loner.  Look up fashion sense in the dictionary and there is a 3-D pop-up of him with a midi audio file that plays “I’m Too Sexy.”    With a smile that lights up any room, he was 6’3” of unadulterated café-au-lait-colored beauty. 

We were usually joined at the hip on my “business trips” (wink wink).  I’m exponentially more extroverted than he is but we fit together like hand-in-glove.  He’s the driving force behind the images for In Loving Color, we created the empire together from a dream and pure determination, so nine times out of ten, where I go, he goes.  This trip was no different.  We listened to amazing live music, ate great food from morning till night, and we smoked weed that had us glued to the sofa, practically comatose and simultaneously giggling, for six hours straight.  We met the locals, made friends, we traveled the countryside, him taking breathtaking images and me getting inspiration for my some future project.  I wasn’t sure what that inspiration was or what project that would be at the time but any time I have the opportunity to bask in such beauty and diversity, I take that sensation and store it away in my memory banks to use when I’m writing. 

Amsterdam’s Japanese population is relatively small but they get a fuck-ton of tourists from Japan there so they have some pretty exceptional Japanese restaurants.  One of my parlor tricks when we go out to have sushi is to let Jason order for us.  He lived in Japan for a number of years and picked up the language extraordinarily well.  I consider him fluent, he considers himself conversationally adequate.  When Japanese people hear him, their jaws drop and they stare in disbelief.   It never fails that people sitting near us start whispering to themselves, and within minutes, heads start popping out from the kitchen to see the Black guy who can speak Japanese.  Our restaurant of choice for the evening was Yamazoto and I have to give it five stars.  The food was amazing, the staff was super friendly, and the ambiance was perfection.  And the eye candy . . . it turned out to be the best in town. 

Midway through our meal, an actual God from Black Africa walked through the doors.  He was about 6’3” and blacker than blue black.  He had a bit of gray in his hair which made him look like he could have easily been Idris Elba’s blacker, more beautiful, big brother.  Swag?  He not only invented the word, he copyrighted and trademarked that shit.  He was wearing an ensemble by MaXhosa and he looked like he just stepped off the runway from Paris Fashion Week.  Every eye in the place turned and watched him as he made his way through the restaurant to sit with his dinner companion, a caramel-skinned brotha who was beautiful in his own right but over-shadowed by the glow of melanin, charm, charisma, and pure magnetism that emanated from his cohort of deep, dark, chocolate heaven. 

As luck would have it, the pair sat at the table next to us, I was facing the other brotha and Jason was sitting opposite Shaka Zulu.   That was all I could think to call him at the time because words failed me in the presence of his stature and beauty.   With the wait staff paying extra attention to both our tables, Jason and his Japanese and brotha man being damn near a rock star, my sake cup was practically overflowing every time I took more than two sips.  I was getting tipsy and emboldened so I started striking up a conversation with the masculine perfection to my left.  I couldn’t tell exactly what sort of relationship he had with his dinner companion; I couldn’t tell if they were lovers or friends or business acquaintances or what.  What I could tell, unquestionably, was that big sexy had eyes for Jason.  He was smiling and flirting and giving Jason the I’m-going-to-stare-you-down-until-you-look-in-my-direction-and-then-I’m-going-to-let-you-know-with-my-eyes-that-I-want-to-devour-you-whole-until-you-are-intimidated-and-you-look-away look.  What?  That’s a thing, isn’t it? 

If I wasn’t the reigning Queen of monogamy, very happily in love with the man of my dreams who was working on a project in Canada and unable to join us, I would have felt like the fat, ugly, wing-woman because brotha man didn’t even look in my direction.  To his great credit, the brotha sitting next to Jason didn’t seem to be intimidated or jealous at all.  He seemed to know that he had to pause his conversation when his friend was distracted and making goo-goo eyes at Jason and he waited for a break in the flirting to make his important points. 

Totally tipsy and typically outgoing, I struck up a conversation with the pair.  The Jews say that the name of God cannot be pronounced or spoken.  Dey was wrong, dey was dead ass wrong.  He introduced himself as Adeshola Adetola and in that moment, a chorus of little brown cherubs descended from heaven and started playing the pan-flute, a few trumpets, and I’m pretty sure there was a harpsicord in the mix as well.   With his lilting French/West African accent, I was convinced that no sweeter sounding name had ever crossed anyone’s lips in the history of mankind.  His friend, Samuel Owatulu, and he were friends from childhood in Cote D'Ivoire and they had formed a tech business together and had moved to Amsterdam to further their education and take it to the next level.   Within minutes our tables were pushed together and I was eating off their plates like we were good friends.  Did I mention the food was out of this world? 

I couldn’t even get our names off my lips before Adeshola erupted with glee.  He knew of In Loving Color, our book, and he started gushing like a school boy.  In all honesty, finding anyone who hadn’t heard of our book would have been difficult to do.  It would be like trying to find someone who hadn’t heard of Harry Potter or 50 Shades of Grey.  We’d sold over 20 million copies worldwide and that was only for the hardcover coffee table book of stories and images.  The pillow-book, the supplemental books of all photography, the videos, the entire AfroerotiK brand was in every corner of the world.  I’m sure there were a few people on the planet who had never heard of it but they were blind, deaf, paralyzed and lived in a cave in Uzbekistan.  For all our success, Jason and I were conspicuously low-key and could come and go without much fan-fare.  We enjoyed the success without the fame and celebrity. 

Both Adeshola and Sam started singing our praises, Sam making sure to let us know that he was in a stable, heterosexual relationship and how our book had done wonders for his relationship with their sex life and their communication.  I think he was quick to share that information so that he could make sure that “everyone” knew that he and his friend weren’t lovers.  And when I say everyone, I really mean Jason.  Adeshola didn’t even attempt to hide his sexual preference and he went on and on about how he loved that the book gave men like him, who felt free to love men and women equally, a voice that had been silenced before.  They were both going on and on about which stories were their favorites, about which pictures and characters turned them on the most.  They were true fanboys. 

Jason loosened up and started to be more engaged with our dinner companions, flirting back a little bit.  Jason was also a man who felt free to love both men and women equally and the process of shooting for the book, its subsequent phenomenal success, and our resulting financial windfall, he’d sort of had to learn to be very comfortable in his own skin and his sexual preferences, or lack thereof.  He didn’t feel the need to wear a t-shirt that said, “I Like Dick,” but he also was very comfortable letting it be known in appropriate settings that he had no reason to hide his real identity.  That was the reason I wrote the book in the first place, to give people of African descent a real model of emotional maturity, intimacy, communication, and mind-blowing sex to arouse them.  Every shape, every shade, size and sexual preference was shown in a healthy, erotic light.  You can’t be closeted or uncomfortable with your own sexuality when you are two-handedly . . . double-handedly responsible for moving millions of people from freaks, of both the puritanical and ghetto varieties, to expressive, empowered, sensual, sentient, passionate, erotic, Black beings.  I wrote the stories, Jason took the images.  It wouldn’t have been such a phenomenal success without both of those elements together so whatever you want to call it, it wasn’t single-handedly, it was a true partnership. 

Samuel and Adeshola insisted on paying for our meal, saying that it was only fair because we had given them so much pleasure with our book.  They invited us for drinks and weed at a café on the other side of town and we quickly accepted.  The town was replete with jazz artists playing in small little venues and the idea of listening to Gregory Porter in a club as big as my living room and enjoying the effects of some of the world’s best goddamn Kush ever was an invitation that was impossible to pass up.  We piled into a cab and Jason and Adeshola were VERY close.  They were so stunning together they could have been models for an AfroerotiK photoshoot.  They were a study in chiaroscuro, light and dark all within the spectrum of pure BLACK. The chemistry and sexual attraction between the two of them was so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

We all tumbled onto the sofa in the club virtually on top of one another and looked over the cannabis menu.  I usually prefer to use oil but I opted to vaporize the AK-47 so I could get more immediate results.  Having learned my lesson from previous days, three hits and I was sufficiently fucked up to enjoy the music and the company and not be a drooling idiot.  Before I knew anything, J & A were shot-gunning and making out in the dimly-lit speak-easy, exchanging tongues more than smoke.  I couldn’t take my eyes off them.  They were sexy.  The contrast in skin tones, the ease and comfort level they had with themselves, I’m not going to lie; it was sexy as two fucks. 

After the show and out in the beautiful night air, Adeshola invited all of us back to his flat to listen to some more music and to smoke a little bit more.  Jason and I did a quick huddle.  I told him that I didn’t want to cramp his style and I would take a cab back to the hotel and see him whenever he got back.  Adeshola and Sam did a quick huddle of their own and before I could even begin to guess what they were discussing, Adeshola was saying goodbye to Samuel and telling me that I was going with Jason and he back to his place, no questions asked.   Samuel and I hugged goodbye and I hoped we would see each other again. 

I don’t even remember how we got from the club to Adeshola’s apartment I was that buzzed.  His flat looked like he did, fit for a rock star.  It was industrial and sleek and masculine and modern with crazy sex-appeal.  Every furnishing, every piece of art was a show-stopper.  With the push of a few buttons, the lights were dimmed, music played softly, and a fire glowed in the fireplace to take the slight chill out of the air.  Adeshola excused himself to his bedroom and returned wearing a pair of white linen drawstring pants and not another stitch of clothing.  I had to laugh as Jason’s eyes almost popped out of his head and I heard him say, “Oh, fuck,” which I’m pretty sure was meant to be internal dialogue. 

Ade made his way to the kitchen and was calling out to us for our drink orders.  I didn’t need another drink, I didn’t need another anything I was flying so high so I stayed glued to the sofa and was hearing notes in songs that I was absolutely sure no one else had ever heard before.  Jason asked for a Rum Runner and then nonchalantly made his way to the kitchen to help make it.  I was pretty sure he didn’t want a Rum Runner, a Rum Jogger, or a Rum Speed-Walker, he just wanted to be close to Adeshola. 

I’ll be honest, I have no idea how much time had passed but eventually, I realized that I had been sitting there alone for a very long time.  I got up and made my way to the kitchen.  “Hey, what are you guys . . .”  I stopped mid-sentence. 

There, in the middle of the small kitchen, was Jason, on his knees giving an incredibly slow, sensual, deep blow-job.  Adeshola looked up at me and let me know it was some of the best head he’d ever had in his life, biting his lower lip and his eyes rolling back slightly in his head.  He caressed Jason’s head and fucked his mouth gently. My boy was going all in.  He was licking and fingering balls, he was stroking and sucking and I could hear Adeshola’s soft moans getting louder and louder. 

He grabbed his dick and pulled it away.  In his sexy West African accent he said, “Jason here tells me you like to watch.  I understand you don’t want to play, that’s off limits.  But, if you are interested, would you care to join us in the bedroom while we get more comfortable? I’m going to fuck your friend all night long.”  Jason moaned. 

Uhmmm, did I want to watch?  I would have donated a kidney in that moment to be able to watch these two.  I would have done the operation myself with no anesthesia to be able to watch.  Adeshola held out his hand and Jason steadied himself to stand up.  Having discarded his linen pants and fully naked, his dick was thick and long and shiny with spit and stood proudly against his abs.  He turned to walk to the bedroom and his ass was a sculptor’s dream in Ebony.  I had the good sense to find my phone to call my boo and tell him very quickly what was about to go down.  We had complete trust in one another and he had no reason to be afraid I was going to do anything to jeopardize our relationship.  He knew that I was comfortable enough with my sexuality that I am a confirmed voyeur; I’m aroused by seeing people be uninhibited and intimate. 

I slid my panties off and put them in my purse and made my way to where the action was.  In the bedroom there was a chair that was perfect for me to observe the goings on.  Things were already heating up.  I positioned myself comfortably; hopefully my dress would provide enough protection so I wouldn’t make a mess in the seat.  Ade and Jason were kissing.  It had to be one of the most sensual, erotic kisses I’d ever witnessed, and again, I’m in the business of creating erotica so try to grasp the full impact of what I’m saying.  They were making love with their mouths.  Adeshola held Jasons face gently in his hands and their tongues were communicating their desire for each other.  I was pretty convinced, although I couldn’t be sure, that this was going to be way more than a one night stand.   Jason and I had known each other almost 20 years.  We’d shared lots of intimate and sexual voyeuristic opportunities with one another.  Never before had I felt this electric current before that seemed to fill the room. 

Adeshola took charge and I knew my boy loved it.  He undressed Jason slowly, seducing him, teasing him.  Every button on his shirt seemed to take FORRRRever to unbutton.  Once Jason’s shirt was gone, Adeshola teased and twisted Jason’s nipples, not brutally, but definitely enough to get a response.  Jason’s response was to grab for that black fuckstick and try to suck it again, he wanted things to progress faster.  He hated the tease and he simultaneously loved the tease.  He loved being seduced.   I think Adeshola was a little shocked when he unzipped Jason’s pants and pulled out a huge hunk of meat.  It certainly rivaled his own in length and girth and it was standing at full attention.  It was Adeshola’s turn to display his oral skills and he pushed Jason down on the edge of the bed and got between his legs on his knees and started sucking him off like a champ.  It was clear that the roles of top and bottom were antiquated to Adeshola as he was about pleasure, both giving and receiving it.   And Jason was receiving it in spades.  Ade licked his way down his chest, teased his nipples, his tongue circled the head and licked the precum that was freely flowing.  A master at deep-throating, he showed off his skills. 

By this time, I could see that Jason was about to explode and he had to put a stop to the oral action.   “Come on, Daddy, give me some of that big dick,” he said and he laid back on the bed and held his legs up, inviting Adeshola to plow him deep and hard.  Not one to be rushed, Adeshola wanted to enjoy all the sensations his new lover had to offer.  He grabbed Jason’s thighs and pushed them further back, touching his chest, and made a dive to eat some hot ass.  Jason groaned like a wounded animal.  His head thrashed about on the pillow, back and forth.  I was beside myself with arousal and I slid my finger between my pussy lips gently, afraid I was going to cum too quickly. 

Jason started speaking in Japanese, Adeshola in French.  I couldn’t understand what the hell either of the two of them were saying but I didn’t need a translator.  I could tell from the look on Jason’s face that he was in the throes of intense pleasure.  The tongue fucking he was getting was superb.  I wanted him to look at me.  I wanted to make eye contact with me to show me that he was loving every second of this.  He shut his eyes tightly and thrust his ass to make that tongue go deeper.  He stroked his big dick and started saying, “Fuck me, ram that big black dick in my pussy, Daddy.  Make me your nasty little bitch, Daddy.  Hard, long, deep, dick my wet pussy.” 

They kissed again, sharing in the intimate taste of ass.  Adeshola flipped Jason over and positioned him on his knees with his head on the pillows.  His hole was wet and loose and winked at him to invade it deeply.  Adeshola grabbed a bottle of lube from the nightstand and poured it liberally on his big, dark meat.  Jason turned his head and he made eye contact with me.  I was rubbing my pussy and moaning, ready to shoot my cum across the room.  It signified, for me, a level of trust he had with me that said that he would do things in front of me that he wouldn’t do in front of anyone else in the world. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” was all he said.  It was understood by all what he needed.  Feeling that throbbing, enormous, super-black, dick pumping him, filling him, was what he craved.  He wanted the connection of having his lover inside him.  He wanted sex the way it was supposed to be. 

Adeshola didn’t hesitate.  He lined up the head of his dick with Jason’s hole and pushed it in.  They both moaned.  “Tell me you love this dick, say you love it.” 

Jason complied almost before the request could be completed.  “I love that fucking dick.  Harder!  Deeper!  Fuck my pussy.  FUCK it!  I need it so bad.”  The room filled with the scents of real men fucking: sweat, pheromones, and ass.  I came.  I tried to hold back but I couldn’t help it.  It didn’t stop me one bit.  I was still wet and aroused and masturbating and wanting more.  They gave me more.  They changed positions and Jason rode Ade, bouncing up and down trying to get every millimeter of that gorgeous penis inside him. 

They switched positions again and this time they were face to face.  They started kissing again as Adeshola aimed his powerful dick at its intended target and drove it home.  Jason wrapped his legs around him and tried to pull him in deeper.  The moaning from all three of us was at a fevered pitch.  Jason grabbed his dick and started stroking it and begging for Adeshola to deposit his cum as deeply as he could.  Jason came first.  His cum shot all the way up to his face, landing on his mouth.  He licked his lips as Ade kissed him again and started pounding his raw, well-fucked hole.  He was a man on a mission.  I couldn’t believe he had lasted this long.  He grabbed Jason’s legs and pushed them back and started ramming his dick harder than I would have thought possible.  “Mon dieu!  Fuuuuck!” 

He collapsed. 

Within a minute, the two of them were a mass of flesh, light and dark, intimately intertwined, snuggling and falling fast asleep.  I collected myself and covered them with the sheet.  I freshened up in the powder room and left them there to rest, rejuvenate, communicate, and fuck some more. 

Copyright 2015 AfroerotiK

The Revolution has to be Televised

You will not be motivated to riot in the streets.
You will not want to even get off the couch to look for the remote to change the channel.
The revolution has to be televised or Black people will miss it.
The revolution has to be televised in High Definition with a hip-hop soundtrack or it will be completely missed.

The revolution will be a video game for Wii FitU to get your heart rate going.
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution has to be televised because Black people will never read a newspaper.
The soldiers of the revolution will have intensive combat training with Solange.
The revolution has to star Kevin Hart or Black folks will not have a clue the revolution has begun.
The revolution will be brought to you by that vodka endorsed by Diddy.
The revolution will have to be an awards show or Black folk won't give a damn about it.
The revolution will be a leaked as a sex tape with Kimye.
The revolution has to be televised

The revolution has to be degrading and offensive.
You have to be an Xfinity customer for the revolution because Direct TV doesn't carry it.
Subscribe to Amazon Prime to watch the revolution on your Kindle and Netflix will offer season one.
The revolution?  There's an app for that.
The revolution will have a commercial with a couple of those Real Housewives.
The revolution has to be televised

Don't worry, if you miss the revolution, you can watch it on YouTube.
The Revolution has to be televised because Black people don't want to create social change.
They want to Tivo the revolution and watch it in the comfort of their own home.
The revolution will be released on DVD at Red Box with a coupon code.
The #revolution has to be 140 characters or less.
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution has to be televised

The revolution will be 6 seconds long. Do it for the Vine, ain't gonna do it.
God help the revolution if it is scheduled to air in the same time slot as Scandal.
The revolution will be available On Demand, free with your subscription.
The generals of the revolution will have to say the word nigga a hundred times before anyone listens.
The revolution will have its own Facebook page, follow the revolution on Instagram and Tumblr.
The revolution has gots to be televised
The revolution "be like" barely literate.
Who has time for a revolution?

Download the revolution to your I-phone and listen to on your way to the corporate plantation.
The revolution will be produced and directed by Tyler Perry.
It will star Lil Wayne if he's not in rehab and Rihanna's uniform will be see-through.
The revolution has to be televised

Without television, there will be no revolution
The winner of the revolution will be determined by viewer votes.  Texting rates may apply.
The revolution will be nominated for an Emmy as "Best Comedy of the Year"
The revolution will be a telethon with an 800 number to call in and pledge money.
"Hey, what happened to all that money donated for that Revolution thing?"
The revolution is dead.
The revolution died long ago.
The revolution has to be televised!
The revolution has to be televised!
The revolution has to be televised!

Copyright 2014 Scottie Lowe.  All rights reserved.

This poem was derived from Gil Scott Heron’s poem The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.  For the intellectually curious (HAHAHA, I know, I’m funny, right?) who might want to hear the original here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnJFhuOWgXg 

Defining AfroerotiK

Apparently, some people are under the impression that AfroerotiK is a porn blog and thus should be limited to “freaky stuff” and not social commentary or discussion of socio-political issues.  Let me explain a few things.  First and foremost, AfroerotiK is a brand, not a blog.  It is a complex, sophisticated, unapologetic resource/outlet where people of African descent can come for validation of our unique identity and culture, for refuge from the daily beat down of racism that we must endure, a place to come for education, enlightenment, and most importantly, for sexual arousal.   It is about our role in a racist society that demeans us, degrades us, and murders with impunity us without even the tiniest consideration for our humanity.  AfroerotiK’s intent is to explore all facets of Black culture, not just our sexuality, with the hopes that understanding our history, our culture, how we are perceived in the world, and how all of these things work towards how we perceive ourselves has much larger implication of how we function in our intimate relationships.  Only addressing sexuality without all the contributing factors that have led to the formation of our collective consciousness and identities would be an exercise in futility. 

AfroerotiK produces erotica, not pornography.  Just because people don’t know the difference between porn and erotica does not make them the same.  Moreover, it does not make AfroerotiK pornographic in any way, shape or form.  Erotica is any artistic work that deals with a sexually arousing subject matter.  The key word is artistic. I get that many people don’t understand the concept of what artistic means because creativity and art died a painful, slow, and tragic death many years ago. Erotica does not mean selfies taken with your cell phone.  That does not mean a picture taken of a woman’s labia, buttocks, breasts, anus, clitoris, and/or cervix in disgustingly close up range.  It does not mean a photographer merely taking pictures of two people having sex.  Erotica does not mean pictures of very attractive women in sexually suggestive poses.  (That’s objectification but that’s another lesson for another day).  Erotica is art that incorporates the construction of images that will leave you feeling the connection between the participants. AfroerotiK images are not about just looking at naked people engaged in a sex act but it’s a beacon of eroticism and sensuality that is evolved from porn, it’s exactly they want I want to feel in the arms of my lover. 

In the past decade and a half, Black erotic stories have become mainstream reading, on everyone’s bookshelf and nightstand.  Unfortunately, it’s termed literature but it’s nothing even close.  Contrary to popular belief, erotica is NOT a barely-literate short story with the words dick, fuck, suck, and pussy in it written at a fourth grade level about a pathetically stereotypical and urban storyline.  That’s not art, that’s commercially produced crap whose sole purpose is to keep the Black masses anesthetized and complacent with stupidity.  We are so desperate to see ourselves depicted in our own media that we’ve lowered the standards of even basic literacy.  We are reading tales of baby mams and jail house visits and adultery and getting aroused because they use scintillating words, never understanding that those unhealthy messages are being imprinted on our subconscious minds with our arousal.  “They” want us to read stories that make sure us glorify rappers and basketball players and drug dealers because they want to keep us oppressed and seeking unattainable and unhealthy goals.  Those stories are pornography in written form, no different than the billions of videos available online to that show us in the worst possible light.   Just as we are more than the sum of our bodies parts we are more than the same tired and ghetto story. 

                                                                                      

AfroerotiK’s primary product, if you will, is erotic stories. Many people don’t know that. There are over 300 erotic stories, “poetic” pieces, scripts, and erotic shorts in the AfroerotiK library.  With very few exceptions, and there are some that do not, they provide a lesson, a model of healthy behavior, they paint a picture of sensuality and passion and love (yeah, that’s a bad word these days) for Black folks to see, absorb, learn, discuss, and enjoy.  They are pieces of literature.  They are grammatically correct, they utilize vocabulary that is above a fourth grade level, and they show all facets of Black life, not just the urban/ghetto clichés.  Because they use correct English does not mean that they are less authentically Black however.  They tell complex stories of the various tapestries of Black life without ever ascribing to a notion that says that our lives and our identities have less value if we aren’t chasing the capitalist dreams of our oppressor.  They are stories of unapologetic blackness, meaning there is far more than just a simple plot with no real substance that leads to vanilla sex, they are celebrations of our struggles and our triumphs as people of color in a world not created for us. 

There are, however, some AfroerotiK shorts that were written expressly to tease and tempt people of other races to explore my work further.  At face value, they might seem like just crass and pornographic bits of a story but they were crafted specifically to appeal to the triggers of those who lust after black sexuality in private but who have never taken the opportunity to understand that we are more than a race of sexual savages and to be exposed to facet of our lives that they would not see in porn or reality shows.  There is a method to my madness.  Just as a fisherman uses bait to hook the big fish, I lure people of other ethnicities to my work by enticing them with the keywords that arouse them and then I hit them with unique stories, often times that don’t even include them, and I keep them in an aroused state so that they might see our humanity, that their brains might be reprogrammed to view us as more than objects.  It’s taking what the powers that be do and flipping the script and using the technique to educate those who would only see us as a fetish.  Pretty ingenious, right? 

I am very proud of the fact that before I started AfroerotiK in 2004, there were NO Black erotic images on the net and now Black erotica is a photographic genre.  It’s a small one, but it exists.  There did exist several collections of artistic nudes before AfroerotiK, a different genre altogether that is comprised of models in extreme and contrived poses that highlight their nude bodies but not really a representation of a sexual act.  And, of course, there was porn, with nothing but oiled booties of Black women and models straight from the hood looking to get paid for having sex.  Today, artists and photographers have stepped up to the plate and started creating breathtaking images of Black couples engaged in stimulating scenarios. 

Look for emotion in every AfroerotiK image you see.  Look for connection, intimacy, and passion.  AfroerotiK set the bar for Black erotica and it is high.  All AfroerotiK images are of couples.  It was precisely because there were no Black erotic images that I had to start creating my own.  The goal of every AfroerotiK image is for the viewer to feel as if they opened the door and caught two people in the middle of intense love-making.  Models were selected and used to represent all facets of Black America, not just the ones with the least melanin and the most European standards of beauty.  Each shot was carefully thought out in terms of composition, lighting, angle, framing, background and each shot is artistic, not just clicking away trying to catch a good shot.  While editing is done on the images, it’s not to erase imperfections, because real women with stretch marks and cellulite are deserving of pleasure as much as the size 8 surgically-enhanced and sculpted black Barbies are.  Black men with average sized genitalia should be able to see themselves represented as well and I made sure to choose male models based on their cooperativeness, not penis size.  AfroerotiK is for everyone.   Young, old, big, small, light, dark, everybody gets a shot at seeing themselves as sensual. 

AfroerotiK images depict every sexual orientation.  It has from day one, it will continue to do so unapologetically until the day it is no longer in existence.  Every single person of African descent deserves to see themselves in a healthy, erotic light.  The LGBT community is as deserving of seeing themselves in beautiful images as heterosexuals are.  More so in fact because so many degrading and uninformed opinions exist about any form of sexuality that isn’t normative.  (Shout out to the trans community.  I haven’t gotten the opportunity to shoot any images of you yet but they are coming, I promise.  It’s a priority.)  That offends some people.  I’m perfectly fine with that.  I’m not going to cater or pander to those who are too immature to comprehend that sexuality is complex and flexible and not one narrow, oppressive definition that is based on patriarchy, misogyny, and sexism.  The gay community deserves to have a voice in our liberation and they deserve to be showcased as sensual, beautiful, and erotic, not ghetto thugs, fetishes, or objects of dysfunctional down low lust. 

AfroerotiK is the very definition of old-school feminist.  Old-school feminism is vastly different than this new wave of feminism that is about conforming to and complying with sexist definitions of what makes a woman attractive and calling it empowering.  You will not see women dressed up in constricting, uncomfortable lingerie and outrageously high heels in order to appeal to men’s definition of attractiveness.  You will not see women overly-made up either.  Every woman wants to feel attractive and we use the tools available to us to do that.  That includes makeup.  But we cannot allow ourselves to be defined by perfection or standards that are impossible if not impractical to achieve.  Your hair doesn’t have to be done every minute of every day in order for you to feel sexy and desirable.  Your fingernails and toenails don’t have to have matching polish in order for you to have value as a woman.  And you don’t have to hide, pretend, deny, or regret your choices in the bedroom or your beautiful imperfections. 

TRUE empowerment does not mean that you jump in and out of bed with anyone, not respecting that there are very real and often times dire consequences to having multiple partners.  Empowerment means you make informed, intelligent, conscious choices in your partners that are not based on manipulation, getting something in exchange for sex, cheating, lying, or having sex with someone without even knowing anything other than their Instagram name.  AfroerotiK feminism is not just for women.  AfroerotiK wants to insure that Black men are evolving, seeing women as complex human being, not just holes to fuck.  AfroerotiK is providing a framework where brothas evolve emotionally and sexually to honor relationships, not just sex.  Men can be feminists; because feminist doesn’t mean feminine.  Black men need to see women as complements, not adversaries. 

Women have been led to believe that ANYTHING a woman does is empowering, even if and especially if it’s degrading to herself.  In AfroerotiK artforms, you will never see a Black woman being called a bitch, a ho, a slut, or any other degrading name.  You will never see a Black woman depicted being slapped, choked, spit on, or otherwise used by men for their sole pleasure.  Yes, I understand completely that many sistas enjoy being called degrading names, that they experience pain as pleasure, and they have no issue with being spit on or used by men, multiple men in fact.  I also get that there is a growing movement for Black women to “own” their abuse by choosing to be sexually submissive to men as a way of controlling the fact that we have been raped, molested, and beaten by the men in our lives at every stage in our development.  Luckily for them, there are bajillions of outlets for them to find arousal on the net.  AfroerotiK is not one of those places however. 

OK, you say, but you have read plenty of AfroerotiK stories in which white people were called degrading names, where they were beaten and slapped and choked.  Very true.  The difference being, white people have 10 billion other outlets where they can find images of themselves as being virtuous, being desired, being depicted as the most attractive people on the planet.  Black people don’t.  We only have AfroerotiK where I work diligently to create images of us that make us the heroes, that make us the morally superior and advanced, like they’ve seen themselves depicted for 1000s of years.  AfroerotiK is not now, has never been, will never be for white people to see themselves in a healthy, erotic light.  The purpose of AfroerotiK’s interracial stories is for white people to address race and racism in ways that they’ve never done before.  It’s to show them that we are not things for them to use to get their jungle fever fix.  Every interracial story I write exposes white people to our complexity and our humanity.  They may be lured to my stories because of their interracial fetish but they are going to leave having digested much more than that. 

AfroerotiK was created for Black women, like me, who want to be valued, treasured, seduced, romanced, and loved.  AfroerotiK is for women who don’t want to be objects but rather seen as and treated like real human beings with multifaceted needs and desires.  AfroerotiK is certainly not softcore however.  It is for women who want commitment, who want equal partners who are willing to communicate and build based on a desire to see their relationships flourish and grow and evolve.  Basically, I started AfroerotiK because there was nothing that spoke to me as an African-centered, highly-educated, multi-dimensional woman.  I wanted to see nappy women being sexual, I NEEDED to see older women taking control of their sexuality and not being led by shame or guilt that we grew up on.  I wanted to see women who weren’t conforming to European standards of beauty and who weren’t attracted to the pathetic archetype of Black men that is ever-present that is little more than a dog standing upright.  AfroerotiK explores every consensual fantasy possible, some taboo, some extreme, all intense and all with the express purpose of depicting our collective enlightenment through our sensuality.  We have embraced dysfunction, we have internalized our own oppression.  We rationalize that our unhealthy behaviors are inherent to us, not borne of a system of racism.  Look for the lesson in every story; look for black history, examination of our roles in larger society, look for the evolution of the characters from flawed but healthy to slightly less flawed and infinitely sexy. 

Sexuality is not bad, dirty, shameful or wrong.  Not every expression of our sexuality is healthy however.  That message, unfortunately, has been lost amidst the din and the noise of validating patriarchy, under this new guise of feminism masquerading as empowerment.  Rather than women making smarter, more informed choices about their sexuality, their partners and practices, and their behaviors, they have been programmed to believe that equality is to be found replicating men’s unhealthy, dysfunctional, detrimental sexual patterns.  Logic and reason are things of the past.  They have been replaced with arrogance and egotism at the mere mention that some of women’s behaviors are simply not wise.  Yes, women have a right to walk naked down the street if they want.  You also have a right to leave your car running with the doors unlocked too but that’s just not a smart choice.  We have failed to teach young women that they can make intelligent, informed choices, and while they might not be as fun as say, going to a college party and getting drunk off your ass and asking seven fraternity brothas to get you home safely because you lost your shirt in the wet t-shirt contest, they take into consideration that expecting a lion not to eat a baby gazelle left alone is not the smartest logic either.  Yessss, I get it.  If you don’t wear shorts that expose 3/4^ths of your ass cheeks, you are going to spontaneously combust into flames because any time the temperature is over 60 degrees wearing anything more than that is oppressive.  I   understand.  What I’d like young women to understand is that showing off every bump and curve doesn’t make you sexier, it merely advertises that you are insecure with the person on the inside so you have no choice but to highlight the packaging with the false hopes that some man will pick you above all the other women who have squeezed into impossibly small outfits. 

AfroerotiK women know that being sexy emanates from the inside and that it one’s attitude, that one’s integrity, one’s character and intellect is what makes them inherently attractive, not one’s hair, or the cost of one’s purse, and not the contest to see who can wear the least, show off the most, and who can pout their lips and gyrate like a porn star.  So while you are obsessing over your eyebrows being on fleek (which is not a real word and it’s indicative of a community obsessed with embracing ghetto mindsets as the norm) and your dress being short enough to leave bodily fluids on your chair when you sit down, AfroerotiK women are confident in the fact that they don’t have to be attractive to every single man under the sun in order to have value and worth in this world.  AfroerotiK women are comfortable with the fact that they can dress in appealing clothing but that it doesn’t have to conform to the teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy, teensie, weensie definition of what men think is hot in order for them to feel attractive.  That is not empowering.  That is not feminism.  That is conforming to patriarchy!  AfroerotiK women don’t feel a need to be sexy to all of society, just their partner with whom they have mutual love and respect.  The key word being mutual, with love being the cherry on top the sundae. 

AfroerotiK women understand that using men is unhealthy.  You cannot be upset that men are using you, treating you like an object and then turn around and use them and think that’s empowering.  It’s wrong regardless of gender. I know, that’s crazy, right?  Lying, manipulation, and cheating are wrong regardless of whether the person has a penis or a vagina!  Who knew?  Oh, emotionally mature people do.  AfroerotiK people do. 

Getting money for your sexuality is not empowering.  It is participating in the objectification of women. It’s reinforcing and validating to men that women are things to be bought and sold by men to be used and traded for a better model at their immature whim.  You devalue ALL women when you decide that your body has a price tag.   Oh dear God, I get that some woman’s studies professor told you that sex work was empowering and now, that is the rule, anyone who says anything different is trying to oppress you and slut shame you and they are evil and sexist.  Yes, yes, I get it.  I’ve been told to have two seats and shut the fuck up and I’ve been called everything but a child of God for suggesting that there is a better way than selling your body to some dude who does not give a half a fat fuck about you as a person and who only sees you as a hole to pump his sperm. 

If the man with whom you share your body is not going to fix you chicken soup when you are sick, if he’s not going to calm your fears with words of encouragement when you are scared, if he’s not going to love and support you and your growth as a human being for the UNIQUE individual you are, not just your pussy or ass or weave or your Loubutins, but for who you are and what you bring to the table, sweetness, that’s not empowering.  Empowerment comes from being selective with your partners and holding them to high standards, exacting standards that you demand from a partner, not handing out coochie to any Tom, Dick, or Harry every time you feel a tingle between your legs or when you need your car note paid.  Demand honesty.  Demand fidelity.  Demand respect and all the things you need in a relationship from whomever gets your juicy delight.  That is empowering!  Annnnnnnnnnnd queue the respectability politics police to scream that women can have casual sex all they want with anyone they want just to fill their sexual needs and that sex doesn’t have to be about antiquated love and romance.  Right, you sure can.  But there are consequences to replicating men’s unhealthy behaviors and they ain’t pretty, trust me on that. 

Take it from someone older and wiser and with many more years of experience and scar tissue on my heart. Learn from my mistakes. Your refusal to understand that communication, intimacy, respect, and cooperation should be at the foundation of your choices in partners, not who has the most money, or who is the most attractive, or who has the biggest dick, or even who is available to sex you up when you are in the mood is going to bite you in the ass when you get older.  I wouldn’t even be telling you this if I didn’t love young Black women and want the best for you all.  I don’t want you to end up alone, with your expensive things you’ve purchased from selling your body and no one to share them with because you haven’t been taught how to form a relationship, all you’ve been taught to do is lie, cheat, manipulate, and barter your body to the highest seller.  You’ve never been taught the skills necessary to form a healthy relationship so your plan, to just sell it when you’re young and stop when you’re 30 or so and settle down and get married, that ain’t going to work.  Why?  Because men aren’t going to want a woman to settle down with when you’ve been reinforcing and participating in them buying women like convenience store fuck holes.  I get that 10,000 YouTube videos say differently.  I get that the overwhelming belief is that anything a woman does with her body is empowering.  You don’t have to believe me, agree with me, or change your mind; you don’t have to waste your time or mine telling me how ignorant I am.  I’m working to provide a model of healthy relationships for people of African descent, giving our pathologies, our issues, and our challenges in a racist society.  Go on believing that degrading yourself is empowering if you so choose.  Fine with me. 

AfroerotiK is not just for women however.  I have been passionate and relentless in holding a mirror up to Black men’s collective unhealthy behaviors and trying to provide them a model that is healthier than the one-dimensional hyper-masculine caricature that they have become.  I’m educating men to see women as complete beings, not objects.  I’m educating men to be more honest with themselves and their partners so they don’t falsely believe that some women are for marrying and some are for sexing. I work hard trying to educate men and women, to liberate them from absurd ideas about sexuality that should have been left behind in the 1800s.  I’m ever amazed at how many people believe such silly concepts about sex when information is abundant.  It’s slow, arduous, tedious work because women are intent on countering every positive thing I teach men with their negative behaviors that reinforce to men that all men need to bring to the table is a wallet and a dick.  But with every AfroerotiK story, I expose men to a model of what it is to be an empowered man, making mature, intelligent, informed decisions about birth control, about the emotional bond that IS formed with the connection of two bodies, and about their confidence in their manhood has nothing to do with how they receive pleasure. 

AfroerotiK is not just stories or photography.  Well, AfroerotiK used to be a website, owned and solely operated by me.  I’ve had to shut down two different versions of the website: the first because it was hacked and destroyed by someone who didn’t want me spreading my messages of erotic enlightenment to the Black masses.  I’ve had more AfroerotiK social platforms shut down than I can count.  I think there have been three Facebook groups shut down alone.  But I keep coming back and I won’t stop until I accomplish my mission of providing a framework for people of African descent to use in helping them construct healthier relationships.  The ability of a race to survive depends upon our intimate relationships: without ourselves, with our partners, with our families and communities, and with the people who would prefer to see our demise.  The second version of the AfroerotiK website had to be shut down because it was costing me more than I was making.  Never fear, AfroerotiK is not going anywhere.  It’s going to continue to grow and evolve.  I fully intend for my future book, In Loving Color, to have a great impact and scope than 50 Shades of (poorly written) Gray.  AfroerotiK will continue to be founded on breathtaking images and compelling stories and it will also shares podcasts, events, music, and . . . VIDEO.  That’s right.  I have plans for an extensive video venture that showcases our beauty and complexity.   All the steps I’ve made on my journey, all the perfectly-guided missteps, still have me headed to creating a shift in consciousness for me people that allows us to be more holistic, self-aware, and enlightened.  Can’t nobody hold me down. 

Copyright 2016 AfroerotiK  All rights reserved